In Game of Thrones' latest episode titled The Door, the writers finally decide to confront the issue of sexual violence from the perspective of a survivor.

In the six seasons of Game of Thrones, audiences have witnessed countless acts of love, betrayal and violence. Nearly every episode, an innocent (or not so innocent) character is murdered in some grotesque way in a fight for the “throne.” While gore has become an inevitable and accepted part of the HBO series, many have been unsettled by the show’s depiction of sexual violence, specifically that directed towards female protagonists. These scenes have occurred with plenty of fan backlash but no gratifying scenes of agency or revenge.

Since the pilot episode, Sansa Stark has evolved from a meek girl with dreams of romance and royal grandeur to a jaded young woman. She’s been used as a pawn and cast from the hands of one abusive man to an even crueler one. In the latest episode of Game of Thrones, Sansa confronts Littlefinger for leading her directly into danger. In season five, Sansa was forced to marry Ramsay, a sadistic man who had taken over Winterfell, her family’s land right. During her time at Winterfell, Sansa was repeatedly raped by Ramsay.

When Sansa strolls into the barn to meet Littlefinger, she has Brienne -who towers over them both- by her side. (Female tagteam for the win!) When Littlefinger expresses how happy he is to see that she is unharmed, Sansa scoffs.

Would you like to hear about our wedding night? He never hurt my face… he needed my face …. But the rest of me, he did what he liked with the rest of me … What do you think he did to me?

She challenges Littlefinger, encouraging him to speak her truth and contemplate her the trauma she has endured due to his greed.

Instead, Little Finger avoids the elephant in the room. “He beat you … Did he cut you?”

At this point, I was ready for Sansa to read him for filth then command Brienne to kick his ass.

Instead, the GOT writers, much like Littlefinger, shied away and ultimately avoided the issue!

Even Sansa begins to retreat from her uncharacteristic boldness.

The other things he did, ladies aren’t supposed to talk about those things but I imagine brothel keeps talk about them all the time … I can still feel what he did in my body. Standing here right now.

While it was gratifying to see Sansa begin to take back her agency and speak about her abuse, it was frustrating that her experience wasn’t confronted head-on. In an episode that revealed a warty penis, it seemed odd that the act of rape could not be directly discussed. Game of Thrones is usually generous with graphic scenes but we can’t even get a verbal acknowledgement of the physical pain Sansa endured when she was raped. It felt like the writers copped out, when Sansa declared that she was too “lady-like” to explicitly discuss her trauma to the man who however indirectly, caused it. What the audience got was a potentially cathartic moment that was cut short.

Still, it was a step in the right direction for a character who desperately needs poetic justice. I'm feeling this new Sansa. Here’s to hoping that she’ll be the one to end Ramsay’s reign over Winterfell!

In the sketch, a young Nicki Minaj (with an exaggerated backside, seemingly stuffed with padding) interacts with her parents whose butts are so big, that they constantly knock over random items in their home.

The 90-second sketch was void of humor but managed to mock an entire race of people.

If the actors ditched the butt pads and the sketch had involved a short, clever script or a young actor who actually mimicked Minaj's larger-than-life stage persona, the audience's laughter would have been warranted. However, the sketch's one shtick was Nicki Minaj's anatomy. A concept that could have been great instead degraded Minaj and all of the Black women like her.

Some may wonder, "What's the big deal? Nicki Minaj has made a living off of her sex appeal." It's so easy to fall into respectability politics when it comes to women's bodies, especially a Black woman's body. "If she didn't want this, she shouldn't have done that." Her career spans almost a decade, yet the image of Minaj promoting her single Anaconda (released in 2014) has become immortalized. While she has always promoted her sexuality, she has also proven herself to be multi-faceted. Who would have thought that a Black woman could spread eagle in a thong while still promoting feminism?

As I type this, Minaj has yet to respond but that doesn't matter. Whether or not Nicki is offended by the portrayal or never comments, the sketch is problematic and feeds into a stereotype of Black people as nothing more than their physical features.

"It's not that deep," you say, "It was only a joke." I beg to differ and offer the case of Saartjie Baartman as proof. Saartjie was an African slave who was paraded around Europe in the early 19th century and treated as an attraction for White audiences. Her curves were the subject of speculation and after her death, her body became the property of the Museum of Natural History. As tragic and grotesque as Baartman's story is, it is just one of many that contributed to the fetishsization of black bodies.

For centuries, White people used the anatomy of Black bodies to dehumanize us and rationalize slavery. Today, we are free but our bodies are still under attack.

Netflix's latest series Narcos spins viewers into a web of drama featuring ruthless DEA agents and drug lords, cocaine-smuggling pregnant women and teenage dope boys as "disposable as paper cups." Narcos revolves around the rise and fall of drug kingpin Pablo Escobar but also reveals the moral decay that spread through nations during The Reagan Era.

The show takes place primarily in Columbia and is narrated by DEA agent Steve Murphy (Boyd Holbrook). In the first episode Murphy is the average White man in an unknown land; ignorant of the culture but determined to catch the "bad guys." By the fourth episode, this assumption wavers. The show's informative voice-overs are reminiscent ofGoodfellas; the complex characters on both sides of the law remind me of The Wire and the vibrant South American backdrop can draw comparisons to City of God.

If you've seen any of the aforementioned works, it's safe to assume that the content of Narcos can be triggering to some. By the second episode the casualties are countless. There is also a devastating rape scene that makes me question television's obsession with unnecessarily brutalizing women.

If you manage to withstand the series' inclination towards violence, Narcos is captivating. I can appreciate a villain with a heart; no matter how twisted they may be. Escobar scathes when an owner kills his dog but gleefully positions the corpses of his victims for a newspaper photo. Wagner Moura's portrayal of Pablo Escobar as a cool, intelligent man with rage rumbling right beneath his charismatic demeanor is chilling; especially considering the fact that Moura learned Spanish specifically for the role. With the exception of a few shout-outs from rappers, I knew very little about Escobar and the Medellin Cartel. Real photographs and footage of Pablo and his contemporaries juxtaposed within scenes reminds viewers that as absurd as it all may seem, the best of writers couldn't make half of this shit up.

As much as I enjoyed Narcos, I'm not sure if it's "binge-able." The Netflix series is sprinkled with Spanish subtitles so unless your fluent, you can't mindlessly watch for hours at a time. I found myself periodically pausing the show to Google key players in the coke game and fallen politicians. The intensity of Narcos won't allow leisure time for live tweeting the show or scrolling through your Instagram feed. It demands all of your attention and rightfully so. For this reason, I believe that the show should be enjoyed in measured quantities.

Narcos is an exhilarating ride that will you leave feeling deliriously high without the blow.

Hello, my name is Maya...

and I'm what some would call a "Bad Feminist." I minored in Women, Gender and Sexuality Studies so I'm well versed in the male gaze, rape culture and intersectionality. However, that doesn't mean I won't partake in the rachetrosity that is trap music or revel in the ridiculousness of a Real Housewives marathon.